The importance of Where
by Crimson Thesis
Summary: Oneshot: Melgoth gets more than he bargained for when he pickpockets a purse of gold from and orc one night. My first story, comments please.


Melgoth may tie in to a bigger story that's knockin around in my head; please, constructive criticism!

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Melgoth crept away from the tavern, casting nervous looks over his shoulder as he moved through the warm summer air. He clutched a full purse of gold in one hand; in the other he held his dagger. He had hardly succeeded in snatching it from the orc; while he had seemed like the typical thick-headed brute characteristic of almost all of his kind, the orc had proven a difficult mark. In the end, he had proven too difficult. He noticed the little wood elf heading toward the door with a big of gold that he didn't enter with, and had knocked over a table and two waitresses as he bore down on the pickpocketing scoundrel. Melgoth had managed to sprint into the surrounding roads and slip into the shadows before the orc stumbled out of the tavern, hurriedly trying to yank his spiked club from its holster on his belt.

The elf cursed himself mentally; he had botched the job so badly he had nearly been clubbed to death by an orc whose arms were nearly as thick as his own torso. It had been the sheer _size_ of the purse that had prompted him to steal it; even now he had to switch hands to keep its weight from tiring his arms out. He had moved too hastily, and didn't even take time to size up his mark; in doing so, he violated two of his thieving principles: never underestimate your mark, and never leave immediately. Had he sat down to a pot of ale, he wouldn't have attracted so much attention. Had he taken time to listen to the orc's conversation, Melgoth would have realized that he was smarter that the average bear, and would have taken things more slowly. _Oh well,_ he thought to himself as he picked up his pace,_ at least I got the goods._

After he had put a healthy distance between himself and the raging behemoth, Melgoth plopped down onto a stump in a grove of trees to count his spoils. As he poured the coins out of the purse, he realized he had ended up with a grand haul; they were gold coins, and in Summerset, gold coins amounted to around 16,000 septims each, if the wood elf's math was correct.

"Not bad for an evening in a tavern," the wood elf laughed aloud.

And then Melgoth hesitated. His voice sounded still in the trees. It left a ringing in his ears only brought on by a sudden noise in complete silence. It was summer, and he was in the woods, yet no insects sounded, and no owls hooted. Only one thing could cause such stillness in the vibrancy of summer; there were other people in the grove.

In this situation, the best idea was normally to sprint for his life, but Melgoth knew that for the second time, he had erred badly. His interest in the gold had dulled his senses, and now he was going to pay for it. He was probably surrounded, if the orc was as smart as he seemed, and the gold was still strewn about the ground. Melgoth didn't see any sense in leaving it if he was trapped anyway.

He drew his dagger. A twig snapped behind him. He was ready, but apprehensive; the little thief wasn't sure how skilled his opponents were or how many they numbered. His eyes darted from one place to another, trying in vain to find any sign of his enemies…

And then they struck.

Three attackers came at him in a rough triangle. He had barely enough time to shift his weight toward his feet and roll away from them before a steel claymore whizzed above his head. He came out of his 

roll, rocked back on his heels, and jumped clear of his attackers. Now that he could see them more clearly he found himself facing the orc from the tavern and two redguards; their dark skin gave away their race as instantly as the orc's green tint. The orc brandished his club. One redguard held the claymore; the other hefted an ebony mace. He really didn't want to kill these men, but he realized he probably had no choice. He had taken a lot of money. The three warily began to advance on Melgoth, trying to encircle him.

Melgoth knew better than that.

He lunged at the first redguard, who had moved slightly ahead of his comrades. Melgoth closed quickly with his adversary, and by the time the redguard had time to raise the claymore over his head, the wood elf was close enough the plunge his dagger deep into the redguard's ribcage. Melgoth yanked his dagger out and, seeing the redguard's companion raise his mace to strike, ducked low and leveled a vicious slash at the redgaurd's stomach. The mace flew over his head and impacted on the already wounded redguard's nose, crushing the man's face and knocking him backwards from the force of the blow. The Battered redguard slumped soundlessly to the ground. Meanwhile, the mace-wielding redguard looked down in time to make a futile grasp for his innards, screaming as he too fell to the ground.

Melgoth straightened, and turned toward the orc. "Please, friend," Melgoth said, "I really don't enjoy taking people's lives." "I don't enjoy when people take my money," the orc laughed, his eyes sparkling and a grin forming at the corners of his mouth, "and it just so happens that I _do_ enjoy taking others' lives!"

With that, the orc lunged at Melgoth. Melgoth Sprinted low toward the orc, and as the two met, there was barely the sound of a dagger slicing flesh, and a club whiffing through the air. The orc swung another blow at Melgoth, but Melgoth danced away from the spiked cudgel and flipped backwards, away from his opponent. The orc started toward him, but stumbled and sank to one knee. The orc's voice came in ragged gasps "…what… what did you _do?_" the dazed orc demanded of Melgoth in a weak and bewildered voice, "why in the nine hells can't I move properly?" He glanced down at his trousers, which were drenched with a quickly widening bloodstain.

Melgoth sheathed his dagger. Melgoth had learned the importance of _where_ to strike long ago. "There are several arteries which should be carefully protected at all times, my friend," the elf murmured, "it just so happens that there is an extremely large vein running past the femur-the big bone in your thigh- which, if pierced, will end your life in around twenty seconds. Goodnight.

Melgoth didn't look back as he moved quietly to the area where the coins still lay scattered around the stump. His mind had moved on the other things: mainly, how in the world was he going to spend this much money?


End file.
